


silence is safe

by badritual



Series: Exchange Fic [4]
Category: The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism Spectrum, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Laura Fairlie Is On the Spectrum, POV Multiple, Yuletide, Yuletide 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual
Summary: Walter Hartright lifts his head at a sudden noise that shatters the peaceful calm.
Relationships: Laura Fairlie & Marian Halcombe, Laura Fairlie/Walter Hartright (background)
Series: Exchange Fic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705675
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	silence is safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moon_custafer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_custafer/gifts).

> I was fascinated by your prompt of Laura as AS/ADHD. I'd never given much consideration to Laura being on the autism spectrum before, but it makes a lot of sense for the character. This ended up being a bit more about Laura being on the autism spectrum than rules vs. instinct. 
> 
> The title comes from a line in the book.
> 
> Thank you to [redacted] for the beta! <3

Walter Hartright lifts his head at a sudden noise that shatters the peaceful calm. A pot lay upturned on the floor; dark liquid encroaches like a bloodstain. As Walter takes in the sight of the pot and its spilled contents, he notices the broken paintbrushes. And then he takes notice of the hem of Laura Fairlie’s pretty white dress, stained dark with paint. 

“Laura,” Walter inquires, stepping over the mess on the floor. “What’s happened?”

Laura twists her hands nervously; he notices her fingers are stained with paint as well. “It’s nothing, really,” she insists even as she frets. Laura steps around him to crouch down and pick up the pot and broken paintbrushes. “I get cross, sometimes.” 

“With your art?” Walter asks, glancing over her shoulder at her canvas.

He’s been giving Laura and her half-sister, Miss Halcombe, painting lessons. Laura struggles with the lessons, but she’s never thrown her paint or brushes in frustration.

She’s sketched out a wispy image of—Walter squints and shuffles closer to Laura’s canvas. 

“It’s your sister, is it not?” Walter asks, turning to offer Laura an approving smile. 

Laura sighs, throwing her hands up. Paint of every shade stains her delicate fingers and Walter wishes to take her hands in his, but he doesn’t. 

“I meant for it to be,” Laura sighs. She gazes balefully at the canvas. “It is just far too difficult to catch Marian’s likeness. Trapping her on a scrap of canvas almost feels wrong.”

“Wrong?” Walter asks.

Laura clutches onto her broken paintbrushes. “I just cannot seem to get it right. And it has to be _right_. Because it’s Marian.”

“I think it looks quite fine, Miss Fairlie,” Walter offers, observing the sketch. If he tilts his head, he can indeed see the resemblance to Miss Halcombe.

Laura lets out another sigh and curls her hands into fists. “You don’t understand,” she says. 

Walter falls back, his cheeks warming. Laura looks away, her own pale cheeks flushing with color, though perhaps due to frustration rather than embarrassment. 

“I’m afraid you might be right, Miss Fairlie.”

*** 

It isn’t as if she doesn’t pay attention to her lessons. Laura practically sits at Walter’s feet like a child, soaking up every word that slips off his tongue and every slash of paint across canvas. Sometimes it feels as if the lessons don’t properly translate. He can make painting look so effortless. 

Laura remembers a quote: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” 

It’s like that with Walter, she thinks. He moves his brush over the canvas and frees the images from within.

For her, it takes so much more effort, so much more energy. Even Marian has an easier time of it, and Marian paints as if she has two left hands. But she enjoys it, and does not mind so much if she makes mistakes. Marian does not mind if she paints outside the lines.

It takes so much more effort for Laura to be _Laura Fairlie_. Even more so when she’s around Walter. Laura just wants so much for Walter to like her, but she’s… she’s strange. Awkward, ungainly. She blurts out random bits of trivia at the wrong moments. She loses her temper over the slightest affronts. It’s a wonder Walter hasn’t gone running in the opposite direction yet.

The only one who seems to understand her is Marian. Marian would know all about being _strange_, though. Wouldn’t she? 

Laura wishes she were more like Marian. Marian wears her strangeness proudly, like a badge, while Laura wishes she could hide hers away where no one could ever find it. 

*** 

Marian is mending her riding cloak by a crackling fire—normally she would leave this task to a servant, but Marian so adores this cloak and would prefer to mend it herself—when a creak on the stairs captures her attention. Looking up, she finds Laura standing in the doorway to the sitting room, warm rosy light from the fire dancing across her face.

“Laura? What is it,” Marian asks, setting aside her cloak.

“I could not sleep,” Laura murmurs, taking a tentative step into the sitting room, and then another. She finally settles herself at Marian’s feet and rests her cheek upon her sister’s knee. 

Marian sighs and reaches down, drawing a hand through Laura’s pale, silky fine hair. “Is it little Walter?” she asks, thinking of her nephew. Little Walter _has_ been a fussy baby and Laura is—well, Laura is Laura, after all.

Laura curls her fingers in the soft material of Marian’s robe. “I could not get the thoughts to stop racing through my head,” she admits, lifting her head from Marian’s knee. 

Marian gives Laura a puzzled look. “Is something weighing on your mind?”

Laura shakes her head. “No. Well, I don’t think so,” she says. “But you know how I can get. Sometimes I just can’t stem the tide.”

Marian reaches out again, petting Laura’s blonde head. “I know, my dear, I know.”

“Could I sleep with you tonight?” Laura asks, seeming to shrink before Marian’s very eyes, back into a child.

Marian smiles indulgently, her hand still moving slowly through Laura’s hair. “You needn’t even ask, Laura, dear,” she says, getting to her feet and offering Laura her hand. 

Laura grasps onto Marian’s hand and gets to her feet. Marian’s fingers are warm from sitting so close to the fireplace. 

Marian leads Laura out of the sitting room without a word, up to her room. It’s not too far from the nursery; if the baby cries out for Laura she’ll hear him. 

Marian pulls back the covers and climbs into bed, then waits for Laura to join her. They lie tangled together as they used to when they were younger. They haven’t had much of an opportunity to share a bed since Laura’s reintroduction to society and her marriage to Walter. 

Marian had missed this. She lifts Laura’s hand to her lips and presses a kiss against her knuckles. 

Laura squeezes in against Marian’s back and buries her face in her sister’s hair. Marian slips her fingers into Laura’s and squeezes tightly enough that Marian thinks all the bones in her fingers will shatter. 

“Goodnight, Marian,” Laura whispers.

“Goodnight, Laura,” Marian whispers back. 

Marian stays awake, listening to Laura’s breaths even out, feeling them curl warmly against the back of her neck, before she falls asleep herself.


End file.
